


25 Vendémiaire, An II

by WildandWhirling



Series: The Abomination Verse [2]
Category: 1789 - バスティーユの恋人たち | 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille - Takarazuka Revue, 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille - Various Composers/Attia & Chouquet
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Ghost!Antoinette, Hauntings, In which Olympe and Solene were one of the main pairings all along and ran away to London together, Post-Canon, ‘‘Tis the Season for 1789 Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandWhirling/pseuds/WildandWhirling
Summary: Olympe is forced to come face to face with her past.





	25 Vendémiaire, An II

Olympe woke up in a cold sweat, the familiar, heavy scent of roses and jasmines filling the room. Off to the side, Solene slept soundly, an arm thrown around Olympe’s waist, protective and warm.

Trying to forget the anxiety clawing its way through her stomach, Olympe smiled at her lover, brushing a stray strand of her dark, curly hair away from her face. In the moonlight, she looked serene, the hardships she’d experienced lifted off her face.

This was her life now.  
Versailles was far away.

Something gleaming and pale seemed to appear out of the corner of her eye and, even as she willed herself not to look, to settle back into bed and forget it all, she knew she couldn’t run away from it.

She rose from the bed, only to find that a bitter chill had settled into the room. Her trembling hands found a thin linen shawl that she’d draped onto the bedpost while she was preparing for sleep, cautiously wrapping it around herself.

She stepped forward, closer to the gleaming figure, falling into a curtsy as she saw a familiar face.

“Your Majesty.”

Marie Antoinette looked exactly as she had that day, so long ago, when she’d sent Olympe away from her service, as Olympe would always remember her: young, fair, and tragic. Her hair, long and blonde, was barely pinned up, flowing lightly down her back. All that had really seemed to change was a simple necklace that was wrapped tightly around her neck, gleaming rubies splashing against her throat and collar.

She approached Olympe, the pale, silver dress she’d worn then, which seemed to glow in the moonlight, barely brushing against the wooden floor. Her hand, soft, uncalloused, and cold to the touch, skimmed Olympe’s cheek, and Olympe dared to look into her eyes, which gleamed with sadness and understanding in equal measure.

The Queen then took Olympe’s hands in her own, and she rose unsteadily to her feet, the shawl falling to the floor.

An eternity could have passed as they stood there, hands intertwined before the Queen leaned over and briefly touched her lips to Olympe’s, the shade of the only kiss they’d ever shared.

This time, there was no debate as to where her heart truly belonged. It was on the bed next to her, not in the past. That past was gone, now.

The Queen must have seen it too, just as she had when she’d sent her away, for she smiled and nodded her head in approval.

All it took was for Olympe to blink her eyes once and she was gone.

As the traces of the Queen’s perfume faded, Olympe stood, trying to make sense of it before she crawled back into bed with Solene, absorbing all the warmth she could from the other woman.

The next thing she knew, Solene’s hands were stroking her hair frantically. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

It was only then that Olympe realized that she was crying, guilt crushing her for waking her lover as she buried her head in Solene’s shoulder, her tears dampening the other woman’s nightgown even as she offered no complaint.

“I love you, I love you.”

Solene had seen enough in her life to not ask, she just held her lover. The last thing Olympe was conscious of before she drifted into a dreamless sleep was Solene’s hand holding hers in the darkness.

The next morning, as she was picking up the discarded shawl, her senses were again filled with the thick smell of jasmines and roses as something fell out of the folds of the cloth onto the ground.

Picking it up, Olympe saw that it was a small gold ring, the words _Domine, salve fac Regime et Regina_ scrawled along the inside in a delicate hand.

Olympe knew even before the streets swarmed with the news that she would never, never see her queen again.

**Author's Note:**

> The reference to the kiss between MA/Olympe is taken from an as of yet unpublished fanfiction that establishes the Verse used here. Suffice it to say, Marie Antoinette kissed Olympe goodbye when she sent her away to be with Solene and Olympe had many conflicting emotions about it.
> 
> The ring at the end was taken from a Royalist ring that Marie Antoinette historically gave to Fersen in a (most likely platonic) gesture of affection. The title translates out to “God Save the King and Queen” which, under the circumstances of this fic...eh.


End file.
